


For I Am Sin

by raychelmay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raychelmay/pseuds/raychelmay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Antichrist or, as he prefers to be called, Matthew Michael Murdock was born on October 21 in a small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It was cold, and blustery, and miserable. His mother toiled through 12 hours of labor, cussing out Jack Murdock in several known and unknown languages all the while.<br/>When Matt finally made his screeching, dramatic entrance into this world an earthquake clocking in at 8.5 hit the coast, a few dozen tornadoes were spotted in the plains, and a typhoon wiped out a small village in Taiwan (Matt never learns this, or if he does he pushes it very far back in his mind until it never happened at all). </p>
<p>or:</p>
<p>Matthew Murdock is the Antichrist. This would be bearable if it weren't for The Fucking Horns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt at the kinkmeme:  
> http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=2873806#cmt2873806  
> "Inspired by the prompt two pages back.  
> Matt is literally the Devil's child, His mothers name was Lucy.  
> If you want theological angst, something with father Lantom? the fact that Lucifer is still an angel? Idk  
> or if you wanna to go comic book crack that's fine to."
> 
> I hope you like it! Foggy/Matt slipped in there somehow? I don't expect it to be very explicit, so there's that. Also, I'm not even sure what I would call the tone of this tbh. Some of it is kind of cracky, and then some of it is just really sad, and then other stuff is just flat out weird.  
> There are also some mentions of Matt/Various Female Characters and Foggy/Marci later on.  
> The rape/non-con and child abuse are more for when Matt starts his vigilante ways and he stops the people who do those things, so I don't expect to describe them in very graphic detail.  
> This is not beta'd at all (hit me up if you want to!), all mistakes are mine.  
> Also, this is my first entry at AO3 ever, and my first post in general in about 7 years. So, if there's any formatting/grammar/continuity issues you spot don't be afraid to let me know. Just try to be gentle?  
> I expect to be updating fairly regularly, but I am taking spring classes so don't hold me to it!

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

Matt paused in the doorway of the church to enjoy the way the sound of his cane reverberated through the building. It bounced off the stained glass windows, the pews, the brick walls, and up, up, into the tall ceiling far above, and finally returned to his ears.

Matt continued into the building, stopping at the holy water font and slipping his fingers into the water. He kept them there longer than necessary, enjoying the singe on his fingertips, before making the sign of the cross. The burn mark that formed on his forehead faded almost as soon as it appeared.

Father Lantom entered the room, so Matt made his way to the confessional and took a seat. He listened as Lantom opened the other door and settled in. The priest shifted his weight a few times, and then waited patiently for Matt to speak.

“Bless me Father,” began Matt. “For I am sin.”

\---

 

            The Antichrist or, as he prefers to be called, Matthew Michael Murdock was born on October 21 in a small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It was cold, and blustery, and miserable. His mother toiled through 12 hours of labor, cussing out Jack Murdock in several known and unknown languages all the while.

            When Matt finally made his screeching, dramatic entrance into this world an earthquake clocking in at 8.5 hit the coast, a few dozen tornadoes were spotted in the plains, and a typhoon wiped out a small village in Taiwan (Matt never learns this, or if he does he pushes it very far back in his mind until it _never happened at all_ ).

            The things Matt knows about his mom are few and far between. His dad never seemed to want to talk about her much, and Matt hated the empty look that came over Jack’s face when he asked. He learned that pretty early on.

\---

            It was the first week of 1st grade, and they started show and tell. All of the kids were really excited, Matt included. He decided to ask his dad for an old pair of gloves so he could talk to the class about his dad’s boxing. He went up and did his presentation, and the entire class seemed to think “Battlin’” Jack Murdock was really cool. Matt preened under the attention a bit, and then sat down to watch the next student present.

            Her name was Katie and her mom was dead.

            All of the other kids, even the teacher, looked kind of uncomfortable but Matt’s attention peaked. He had always assumed that his mom was dead, too. After all, Dad would never talk about her, like the idea of her made him sad and even a little angry. He didn’t know for sure, though. He had never gathered up the courage to ask.

            Katie brought in a picture of her mom at her age. She talked about how she never knew her mom, she died in childbirth. She brought the picture, though, because she looked almost exactly like her mom did in the picture. “It makes me feel close to her,” she said.

            And then…

            Matt couldn’t stop thinking about it. All through lunch, the rest of the day, the bus ride home, it was all he could think about.

            Did he look like his mom?

            Did his mom die giving birth to him? Is that why Dad wouldn’t tell him anything?

            So, when Jack got home from the gym that day the first thing out of Matt’s mouth, before Jack could even set down his bag, was, “Did I kill Mom?”

            Jack froze, his bag slipped down his arm and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Did I- Did Mom die? When I was born, I mean,” replied Matt.

            Jack heaved a gigantic breath in, and then out in a sigh. The air seemed to loosen him back up, because he stepped fully into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

            Matt was sitting at the kitchen table, a very grim expression on his face. Jack took the seat across from him and spread his hands on the surface of the table, his swollen, red knuckles cracking.

            “Matty,” Jack began. “Your mom…” He trailed off, and looked away from his son for the first time since he had arrived home. All of the energy seemed to be sucked out of him, collapsing under the weight of the question.

            When Jack looked back at Matt, he seemed emptier. Except, there was something Matt saw, hiding in his dad’s eyes. A darkness, an anger that was drowned out by the sorrow.

            “Your mom was a… soldier,” Jack told him.

            If Matt noticed his hesitation he didn’t react.

            “She died in battle. She was protecting her... squad. She died brave; went down fighting. Just like a Murdock,” and there he let out a soft huff that Matt thought was meant to be a laugh.

            “Oh,” said Matt. Why hadn’t Dad told him any of this? He knew other kids in class whose parents were in the military. “Um, what- what did she look like?”

            A soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes crossed Jack’s face as he dug in his pocket for his wallet. “I, uh, only have one picture.” He said as he handed it over.

            She was beautiful, Matt thought. The picture was faded from years of handling, but he could still see the rich auburn of her hair, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She was laughing, her ice blue eyes bright with joy.

            “You keep that, kid.” Jack said. His eyes were looking suspiciously wet.

            “Oh! Ok. Thanks, Dad.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Now go play, ok?”

            “Ok,” Matt said as he hopped off his chair. He turned down the hallway towards his room, and the soft padding of his feet on the carpet was not enough to cover the sound of the cupboard door opening, the bottles knocking against each other, and his dad taking a large gulp.

            Matt never really asked after that.

\---

            He and his dad went out for lunch, to this new pizza place that had opened, the day it happened. His belly pleasantly full, Matt had relaxed. He had been all smiles and giggles, enjoying this rare moment of stress free time with his dad. And so, when Jack turned to buy him an ice cream cone from the street vendor for dessert, Matt didn’t think it was too strange that he felt drawn to that street. There was something… _calling_ for him, and he was 9, and a kid, and happy, and so he listened.

            A few weeks after it happened, with the bandages finally removed, and solid food finally settling like lead weight in his stomach instead of coming right back up, his dad read him the newspaper story. It painted him like a hero, a nine year old boy risking his life to save an elderly man, pushing him out of the way of a truck. And maybe, just maybe, for just a few minutes, Matt believed that it was destiny. He was meant to be a hero, that’s why he went down that street.

            It’s a decade later that he realizes there was an alley frequented by prostitutes just around the corner. Nothing attracts the Antichrist like sin.

 

\---

            Matt didn’t know what to make of Foggy at first.

            He entered the room that first night, and hell if dorm rooms aren’t Sin Central. He could sense every lying, cheating, fornicating heathen who ever called the room home. It only took him a few seconds to adjust, though. It wasn’t much worse than the dorm when he was getting his undergrad degree. Although, with it being a law school, there was an interesting slippery, slightly slimy, texture to the sins clinging to the walls. He absorbed all of that quickly, while his other senses gave him the layout of the room, and the outline of the other man in it.

            They made introductions, and when Foggy shook his hand the barrage of images and impressions and emotion hit him a bit stronger than it normally did. Foggy’s life was… bright was the only word Matt could use to describe it. He sinned, of course, but everyone did. Matt was used to that. You didn’t even need to be the spawn of Satan to smell Foggy’s own herbal version of Sloth. What surprised Matt the most, though, was how light he felt as Foggy’s sins transferred to him, almost like a high.

            And then, “A really, really good looking guy,” Foggy said. And Matt could put a name to the sin that was making his mouth tingle like a cinnamon mint, Lust. He let Foggy down, gently, he hoped. Not out of any lack of interest, god no. The touch of Foggy’s hand to his was making him feel like he took too many Vicodin, he couldn’t imagine how he would feel with Foggy’s whole body pressed against his. Actually, he could. That was kind of the problem.

            But, he forced himself to resist. Dating your roommate, he argued with himself, is not a good idea. So, he lets Foggy play it off as wanting Matt to be his wingman. If Matt slipped his arm into Foggy’s elbow and let Foggy guide him, more than he had let anyone else since his dad, well, they were best friends. He definitely wasn’t seeking out reasons to touch Foggy. That would be a Very Bad Idea.

\---

            Foggy finds out the very, _very_ , last way Matt wanted him to.

            The Fucking Horns.

\---

            He called them that since the very first time it happened.

He had already figured out what he was, of course. It was hard not to, living in a Catholic orphanage on hallowed ground. Just lying in his room used to cause tiny pinpricks on his skin. Nothing _painful_ , per se, but noticeable. He could never figure out the exact moment he knew, though. It came on slowly. Little things that happened started to finally add up.

His dad was dead by then, shot in an alleyway for Matt’s Pride, and he wished he could go back and figure it out sooner. He could make the man who shot his dad burn for eternity, could rip the guy’s heart out with bare hands, could break every bone in his body.

It never occurred to him until later that his Dad knew the whole time. It never occurred to him that it was the reason Jack never wanted him to fight. To never give into the base violent urges deep in Matt’s gut. To use his brain, instead. “You’re so smart, Matty,” he would always say. “So smart,” and depending on how much alcohol he had consumed sometimes he would continue, “Just like your mom.”

            Jack Murdock could never have anticipated Stick, though.

            A few months after his dad’s death, Matt was a mess. His blindness had made his other senses super sensitive, including his feeling for the gritty _wrong_ in the world. He could feel each and every person for miles. He felt the small sins, the woman across the street who continued to go to church even though she didn’t believe, they felt like little tingles in his hands and feet like they were recovering from loss of circulation. The big sins, like the couple of mobsters two blocks away who managed to hit all of the Big Seven, as Matt called them, completely overwhelmed him. They felt like he was taking a beating and being force fed at the same time. Vomiting was not a rare occurrence for him then.

            The nuns brought in Stick, and Matt could feel guilt on them. They think what they’re doing is wrong, he thought. They did it anyway, and Matt’s training began.

            Matt was constantly covered in bruises and cuts and there was always a split in his lips. He staggered his way back to St. Agnes every night, and woke up the next morning to go earn more. Stick pushed hard, expected perfection, _demanded it_ until Matt heard Stick’s voice in his head whenever he made a mistake, even years later.

            “You’re a soldier,” he told Matt. Over and over again, until Matt almost believed it.

            Until one day, without thinking, he replied, “My mom was a soldier.”

            Stick made a noise that could only be described as a snort. “Your mom was no soldier, kid. Hell, she wasn’t even a general. She was…” he began to sound almost wistful. “She was the General-in-Chief. No, no. She was _God._ ” He sounded so… worshipful. Like if Matt’s mother had been here he would have knelt at her feet.

            “Wait. You knew my m-mother?”  

            “Oh yeah, Matty. Knew her very well. Used to serve under her, one her most trusted, if you must know.” He stopped there to smirk in Matt’s direction. “Until she got soft, of course. Centuries upon centuries, for _millennia,_ we fought. Then she _falls in love_ ,” he spat the last part out, like if the words stayed in his mouth for too long they would choke him.

            Matt froze. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. He knew what he was. He had just never thought about _how._ He had always thought that maybe he was just evil. Maybe God hated him, and so Matt was cursed to poison everything around him. Look at what he had done to his dad. But, what Stick implied meant…

            “Lucifer. That was her name. Or their name really. Can a formless entity of God’s grace have a gender? Well, they chose female because that’s what your dad was attracted to, of course. Took a permanent physical form, became Lucy, and dropped off the grid. She abandoned us, her most loyal, for Battlin’ Jack Murdock and for _you,”_ Stick continued, gesturing at Matt with his cane. “Once the higher-ups found out about you, though. That was a whole ‘nother ball game. You think just anybody can do what you can do, Matt? You’re special. Very, very special. Your mom knew, too. She realized what she had created immediately, tried to hide you from us. But we found you, not too long after you were born. Lucy put up a hell of a fight, of course. Fought to the very end. Your dad wasn’t the only one who could take a punch.  She took down the entire team that came after you two, but not before they got a few good hits in. She had enough energy left to cloak you, but that was all she had. It was enough, though, for us to lose you again. Until your dad died and you started broadcasting like a fucking tower. They sent me to come get you. Train you up.”

            Matt opened his mouth but all that would come out was a deep guttural sound of pain. Stick had _killed his mom_ or at least been a part of the group who did, and he came here and _trained_ Matt, made Matt feel like there was actually hope. Made him think that maybe, just maybe, he could be Good. That this- this _thing_ he had, these _urges_ , wouldn’t control him forever. These skills that Stick had taught him, Stick wanted him to what? Kill people for him? Be in some mystical holy war?

            “I- I can’t,” Matt managed to stutter out.

            “Yeah, kid, I realize that. Why the fuck do you think I’m telling you all this? I suddenly felt like spilling my deep, dark feelings to you? No. I’ve decided, and the guys upstairs, well actually downstairs, agree with me. You’re too weak. Whatever your monkey brained father and that ridiculous orphanage have managed to do to you completely ruined you. You’re of no use to us.”

            Matt sensed it before he even consciously knew what happened. Something sharp, and humming with energy. A sword, Stick had a sword hidden in his cane, and he was coming at Matt. Matt managed to hit the floor, and roll away. Stick was fast, though, faster than Matt in his shocked state. He managed to slice open Matt’s arm.

            And then Matt got angry.

            It was like, he didn’t even have a comparison. Like his head was being completely ripped open on top, like his entire body was on fire, like he _was_ fire.

            The pain stopped but the fire remained and at that moment all Matt wanted to do was _burn._ He turned towards Stick, and managed to catch Stick’s sword between his hands when he swung again. The sword was ice to Matt’s fire, spreading blue through his palms. He growled at the sting, and pulled the sword from Stick’s grasp.

            “Now, now Matty that’s quite impressive. With the strength, and the horns, and the growling,” said Stick. He managed to keep the fear out of his voice, but Matt could feel it, could hear Stick’s heart pounding away, taste the salt of the nervous sweat rolling down Stick’s face. “But we both know you’re not going to kill me. You can’t do it.”

            Matt surged forward, throwing the sword to the ground as he went. Stick tried to escape, but Matt wasn’t the shocked kid anymore, he was truly his mother’s son. He was filled to the brim with Hell’s Kitchen’s sins, drunk on them, and there were so _many_. He grabbed Stick by the throat, pushed him against the wall and held him there with minimal effort.

            “You’re going to leave my city, Stick. And you’re never, _ever_ , going to return. If I ever see your face again, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from tearing you apart. Do you understand?”

            Stick was choking, his airway constricted by Matt’s grip, but he managed to get a nod across. “Good,” said Matt as he dropped his hand. He crossed to the other side of the room and stood, shaking, while Stick left.

            Matt heaved great gulps of air into his lungs until his head stopped spinning. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, vibrating and hyperventilating, but eventually he slipped to the ground.

            His humanity trickled back into him, slowly, and with great effort. Once he felt his limbs stop shaking enough for basic movement, he brought his hands up to his face. The first thing he noticed were the tears streaming down his face. He quickly wiped those away with the end of sleeve. He moved his hands up, hoping with everything he had that Stick had been lying, hallucinating, _anything_. But, no. They were there, sticking out right above his hairline, sharp and vicious, and, he was sure, looking terrifying.

            Fucking Horns.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has left comments and kudos, I really appreciate it!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, too.  
> Warnings are at the end. Nothing too major, though.

 

            Thankfully, The Fucking Horns were not a permanent feature. That day, after Matt had settled himself down enough to stand up and exit the building, they receded back into his head. The only difference Matt found was a puckered scar on his scalp where each of them had punched through, easily covered by his hair. He managed to drag himself back to St. Agnes and collapse on his bed. He closed his eyes and used what Stick had taught him. He squeezed himself back into his own body, until he couldn’t feel the teenage girl who had argued with her parents and got grounded, but was sneaking out anyway, or those two mobsters. Stick had taught him this so he would stop getting overwhelmed, Matt was sure he hadn’t wanted him to completely cut himself off. But, he couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing it all explained to him just made it worse. And so, he was determined. He wasn’t going to be the Antichrist anymore. He was just Matt. Of course, Matt was still a blind kid who could smell things from down the street and hear people’s heartbeats. But this was as normal as Matt could get, so he clung onto it with all he had.

            He went back for the sword the next day, though. Just in case.

\---

            The Fucking Horns didn’t show up again, and Matt was grateful. He managed to convince himself of his normality, or at least a lack of hellfire in his blood. Then, puberty hit. And all Hell broke loose.

Matt kept a lid on all Antichrist feelings for a little over 3 years and settled into his identity as The Weird Blind Kid. School was… tolerable. He didn’t really make any friends. Most of the boys wanted to play sports, video games, other things Matt couldn’t do, and all the girls felt sorry for him. No one really bothered or bullied him, though, which was a relief. Matt had a feeling his lockdown on his powers would have really been tested by some jackass trying to hit him or take his cane.

He spent his lunch times in the library, and sometimes went there after school until the end of day rush was over. There were a few other kids Matt could recognize by different sounds and smells who also spent a lot of time there. One kid, a boy a year older than Matt, always had at least a few bruises and open cuts. One time he even had a cracked rib. Matt was very careful to only sense these things by sound and smell, and to never think about how the kid got injured. If he did, he knew, his blood would catch fire and the mask he had painstakingly applied would melt under the heat. Usually if that boy was there, Matt would find somewhere else to read. It wasn’t like he needed good lighting.

            So, barring avoiding abuse victims, school was boring for Matt. Until his classmates started to notice each other in new ways. Being surrounded by a bunch of kids going through puberty was bad enough on Matt’s normal, supercharged, senses. The body odor, the arousal, the sheer amount of crying in the girl’s bathroom, started to drive him insane. It was his _extra_ sense that concerned him the most. It started seeping in through cracks in the barriers he had built, so many of the little sins combining into the Big Seven, with Lust lying like a veil over them all. He didn’t even notice at first, but soon it was so overwhelming he felt like he was vibrating out of his skin.

            He had forgotten how good it felt, the sheer power rushing through him. The old urges surged in, so much worse from being constrained, told him to _ripteardestroy_ , and they were accompanied by a new, hotter feeling in his gut to _mateclaimtake_. When Heather from his History class passed him in the hallway one day, her hand accidently brushed against his and that one brief moment of skin-on-skin contact made Matt have to flee to the bathroom as fast as he could and still maintain his cover.

            He slammed the stall door behind him, his chest heaving. It was like the fight with Stick all over again, except the lava rushing through his veins pooled low in his gut, and instead of a searing pain he felt only a soft pressure as The Horns emerged. _I’m going to explode,_ he thought. _I’m going to die right here because some girl touched my hand._

“Oh my God,” he gasped. Taking the Lord’s name in vain shot a spark up his spine and made him let out a long groan.

            “Uh, hey? Murdock? You ok in there, man?” Matt heard a voice ask. He hadn’t even checked to see if anyone else was in the bathroom. Stupid, stupid mistake. Stick would have been so disappointed.

            “Y-y-yes,” Matt managed to stutter out. It wasn’t very convincing, but the other kid left anyway.

            Matt slammed his head back against the stall door and let out a sigh of relief. He cleaned himself up, and attempted to control his breathing. _Everything’s ok,_ he told himself. _They’ll go away like they did last time._

            He was right. Once he managed to slow his heartbeat and center himself, The Fucking Horns slipped away from sight and touch again. _Where do they even go?_ He wondered. _Note to self: never get a head x-ray._ And then, suddenly, he began to laugh so hard he nearly fell over. The situation was so ridiculous that his only choices were laughter or sobs. He saved the sobs for later.

            He learned two things that day. One: The Fucking Horns did _not_ only respond to anger, and two: he was going to have to let the sins in.

\---

            After that, Matt handled it like he did his other senses. He let them flow in and out, without overpowering him, and soon he could sense every sin in a room, a block, even a mile if he really concentrated, without feeling like a poster child for spontaneous human combustion.

            Years passed, and Matt figured that if he was going to be the spawn of Satan, he might as well live up to the name and be a lawyer. Mostly, he thought it would give him the best chance of helping people without running the risk of triggering his “violent tendencies”. He graduated top of his class from high school, got a scholarship to Columbia, graduated on top from there, and enrolled in law school there as well. He thought he was juggling his demonic powers, superpowered senses, being The Blind Guy, and school pretty well.

He took the subway back to Hell’s Kitchen a few times a week and worked out in his dad’s old gym, beat the shit out of the bag until he felt like he could slip into his disguise again. He felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing some days, as he wove between these regular, normal people who only saw a disabled man. He liked how it made him feel, dangerous, powerful, and then felt bad that he didn’t feel bad about it.

And then… Foggy.

\---

After the awkwardness of their first meeting, Matt and Foggy became fast friends. Matt let Foggy guide him, let Foggy read articles their professors assigned when they couldn’t find a Braille copy fast enough. He listened to Foggy’s Butcher Story at least 1,000 times without any impatience, simply because he liked the sound of Foggy’s voice. Foggy’s laugh quickly became one of Matt’s new favorite sounds, only seconded, maybe, by Foggy’s heartbeat. Matt even let Foggy’s sins in a bit more than other people, partly because they were so much stronger, but also because they were _Foggy’s_. Living with him was the best exercise in self-control Matt had ever been through. Nothing Stick could have put him through would have prepared him for it.

When it got to be too much, Matt went out and used the “wounded duck thing”, as Foggy had described his charm, to find someone to sublimate the urges. By the time he reached 18 he had learned how to, with enough focus, prevent the horns from coming out and mentally scarring his partner. So, that’s what he did. He didn’t go on more than a few dates with the same person because what was the point? He tried to be as honest with himself as possible. He knew how he felt about Foggy. But, despite all his flaws, Foggy was so pure, so light, and unburdened by the darkness that clung to Matt. He swore he wouldn’t poison Foggy like he had everything else, but he couldn’t quite make himself let go of Foggy completely. So, friends it was.

Marci made being friends with Foggy very difficult.

\---

“I’m going out, Buddy,” Foggy said one night halfway through their time in law school.

Matt perked his head up, and removed his earbuds. He took a breath in, subtly as he could, and smelled Foggy. He was wearing the good cologne his mom got him for Christmas that year, and he had polished his shoes. A date, then. A nice date.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“What? Who said anything-“ Foggy stopped and let out a quiet groan. “I hate when you do that. How do you just _know_ these things?”

“Foggy. I hate to break it to you, but we’re kind of each other’s only friends. Anywhere other than a date, you would have invited me, too.”

“Maybe not, Murdock. Maybe I’m trading you in for a newer model. I hear this one’s blind _and_ deaf.”

Matt snorted despite himself. “You wish. Anyway, stop trying to distract me by offending me and tell me her name.”

“It’s- it’s Marci, ok?”

“Marci? You mean the girl you called, and I quote, ‘a shark in a sundress’ in our lecture class?”

“Hey! That was an immediate visceral reaction!” Foggy exclaimed. “She’s, uh, she’s pretty nice one you get to know her.”

Matt looked in Foggy’s direction with a very disbelieving stare. “She’s got large breasts, then?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re fucking great. That’s not why I’m going out with her though!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt chuckled. “Go! Enjoy the shark! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“ _Is_ there anything you wouldn’t do?” Foggy retorted as he closed the door behind him. Always had to have the last damn word.

Matt planned it very carefully so that he was out of the dorm when Foggy came back. He went to the gym and trained, until the ache in his knuckles chased away any and all thoughts in his head. There was only him and the bag, until the rest of the world melted away. That was when he felt the most _him._ The fire that always brimmed beneath his skin was released, and Matt felt free. No pretenses, no cane, no glasses, just him and his fists and the devil in him.

There was a limit as to how long Matt could be out without Foggy forming a search party, though. So, after he started to wind down, he packed up and headed home.

Foggy was already in bed when Matt got there, but he woke up as Matt was attempting to get his duffel in the closet. “Hey, Matty. Where’ve you been?”

“Library.”  Foggy didn’t audibly react to the lie, but Matt got the impression that he didn’t buy it. “Why, were you worried?” Matt teased.

“I always worry about you, buddy.”

Foggy’s heartbeat was perfectly steady.

Matt cleared his throat, attempting to dislodge the emotion building there. “I was gonna hop in the shower. Will it keep you up?”

 “No, no go right ahead. Oh! But the, uh, showerhead is doing that thing again? The high pitched noise from hell. I was planning on doing a maintenance request when I woke up tomorrow.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Matt grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, before stepping in to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on the shower until it was suitably hot enough to singe flesh, and winced. Foggy hadn’t been lying about the noise. Matt quickly scrubbed himself down, and attempted to block out the faucet’s screeching.

He smelled it as he pushed the shower curtain aside, Marci’s perfume. Foggy must have taken a shower when he got back from his date, because Matt hadn’t noticed it until then. It was all over Foggy’s clothes in the hamper, though, and Matt felt his muscles tense up in anger and jealousy. He took several deep, calming breaths. _This is ok,_ he thought. _I knew this was going to happen eventually._

When Matt crawled into his bed a few minutes later, Foggy was already asleep again. He was on his back, one arm over his head, the other hanging off the side of the bed. His breathing was deep, and just this side of snoring. Matt pulled his comforter over him, and just lay there for a moment, enjoying the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat and its steady rhythm. 

The next few weeks, Foggy and Marci went on several more dates, and each time Foggy came back to the room Matt couldn’t relax again until every hint of Marci had worn out of Foggy’s hair and clothes. He even had to stop himself from brushing against Foggy and making Foggy smell like _him._ All in all, though, Matt thought he was doing a good job of keeping things under wraps. So, maybe he went to the “library” a bit more often. Maybe he kept all his senses focused on Foggy, and knew things he probably shouldn’t, like the first time he and Marci had sex. They were still best friends. They still went out for drinks together, and Foggy still made fun of Matt for the amount of girls he had dated and Matt teased Foggy endlessly the first time he heard Marci call him Foggy Bear.

Officially, Foggy and Marci broke up after a few months. They had gotten into countless knockdown, drag-out fights in that time, and were generally incompatible as a couple. Every once in a while, though, Matt knew that Foggy would go over to her dorm and hook up. He was just thankful that they didn’t do it in his and Foggy’s room. He might have had to fumigate if they had. It was good practice for Matt, though. After Marci, he knew he could handle Foggy dating, and could be happy for him. Foggy deserved to be happy.

\---

They got _spectacularly_ drunk one night toward their final days of law school, and they stumbled through the courtyards, laughing.

“She was so hot,” Foggy said, describing the girl he signed up for Punjabi to get close to, as he grabbed Matt by the jacket and buried his face in Matt’s chest. “She was so hot.”

Matt felt his heart speed up at the embrace.

“Yeah, say that in Punjabi.”

Matt threw his head back and laughed, jumping up and down, when all Foggy produced was stuttering

“Yeah, well you only took Spanish for, uh, what was her name? The Greek girl,” accused Foggy.

“Well, surely I would have taken Greek.”

“NO! She already _knew_ Greek. She was taking Spanish. Whatever happened to her? She was smoking.”

“Didn’t work out,” Matt replied.

Foggy scoffed, “When does it ever with you, buddy? How can I help you?” Foggy turned to look at Matt, his arms outstretched as if beseeching Matt for the information. In a terrible Yoda impression he continued, “What are you looking for, my young Padawan?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. Instead of saying, _“You.”_ “I guess just someone I really like listening to.”

They made a promise that night. Nelson and Murdock were going to be the best damn avocados New York had ever seen.

\---

It became a tradition for them to get thoroughly smashed on the eve of any big life change. The night after they quit their soulless internship at Landman and Zack, they went to Josie’s and did shot after shot, until the future did not seem so much like an empty void waiting to suck them in. After stopping for some burgers, they managed to drag themselves to Matt’s new apartment. Matt clung to Foggy all the way there, the alcohol blurring the lines he normally adhered to when it came to him. It didn’t stop once they reached home, either. They sat together on the floor, backs against Matt’s couch and tore into the burgers, and Matt sat closer than necessary, enjoying the way Foggy’s sins added to his drunken state. He felt a bit like he was drunk _and_ high, which was not a good combination with the amount of secrets Matt had.

“You know, Matty,” Foggy suddenly said in the middle of biting into his food. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

Matt sputtered, and quickly swallowed what he had been chewing. “Wha- Why?”

“Your whole… you,” Foggy replied, immediately clearing the subject. He swallowed, and then, in what was possibly an attempt to explain, added a bunch of syllables that slurred together.

“Are you speaking Punjabi right now?”

Foggy barked out a laugh.

“No, you know I can’t remember a single damn thing from that class. I just-“ and here Foggy stopped and drew a large breath into his lungs. “You’re just really, really good looking, you know?”

“No, I don’t actually. Can’t see, remember?” Matt replied, before what Foggy had said fully penetrated his alcohol fueled haze. Foggy had told him this before, of course. The first time they met, in fact, but he had never said it with such a wistful tone to his voice.

“I’m just saying man, I would take Punjabi for you.”

Matt laughed, but it didn’t have the feeling of a joke.

He had thought that Foggy had moved on, past the initial attraction he had to Matt. Of course, he was still physically attracted to Matt. Matt felt Foggy’s lust, heard his heartbeat, he knew all the signs of Foggy looking at someone he felt sexual attraction towards.

This was different, though.

“I’m serious, Matty. I am just drunk enough to tell you that I would hit that so hard. And like, not even just the sex stuff. Like, cuddling and shit. I am an awesome cuddler, by the way. And I have a feeling you have had a serious lack of cuddles in your life, my friend.”

If Foggy was just drunk enough to say these things, Matt was just drunk enough for them to make him completely shut down. He stared blankly ahead, trying to kick his brain into forming some kind of response, instead all he got was the sound of gears grinding together.

“And- And I know you’re straight. I know that. But I just- I need to do this once, ok? Just once, before we go out there and defend a really, really hot girl and she falls madly in love with you, and you get married and have 2.5 kids. Because this, what I’m about to do, would be even _more_ of a shitty move then.”

Matt was so out of it, he didn’t even register the movement. One second Foggy was sitting next to him, saying weird things that didn’t make sense, and the next Foggy had his lips pressed against Matt’s. It was relatively chaste, just a few seconds of contact, before Foggy began to pull back. Matt let out a sound from deep in his throat. He slid his hand into Foggy’s hair at the base of his skull and kept Foggy from moving away, as he surged forward. Foggy got the hint and kissed back. And soon, Matt’s mouth was opening for Foggy’s tongue to slip inside.

Foggy laughed softly into Matt’s mouth as he pulled back, and this time Matt let him, but not too far. “So, uh, not completely straight then?”

In answer, Matt hauled them back together. He couldn’t bring himself to stop now that he had tasted Foggy, it was like he was addicted. Foggy’s hair and lips and tongue were so soft, and Matt felt like he could stay like this forever.

He melted into Foggy, who put an arm around Matt to keep them pressed together. Matt was sure he was making small, embarrassing noises every time Foggy moved, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was _Foggy_ , and Matt felt like if it weren’t for the flaring spots of heat where Foggy’s body touched his, he would fly away.

Everything else faded away, until it was just him and Foggy, and Foggy’s hand sliding down his chest. He was a volcano, full of molten rock and ready to explode.

“Ah! What the fuck?!” Foggy yelled, and abruptly pulled back from Matt’s grasp.

Matt opened his eyes, surprised at the abrupt separation. Foggy’s heartbeat, already elevated from the kissing, sounded like his heart was going to punch out of his chest any second. He was taking in gulps of air at a time, his mouth opening like he would say something, and then closing immediately. “Fog- Foggy? What’s going on? We didn’t have to… I mean we can pretend this never happened…”

“You,” Foggy started during one of his deep breaths. “You have horns coming out of your FUCKING HEAD RIGHT NOW AND WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING MATT?” Suddenly he was shouting, releasing the whole sentence in one breath, and Matt reared back at the sound.

_Shitshitshitshitshit_. Matt reached a hand up, and sure enough there they were, slightly longer than the last time he had let himself acknowledge their existence. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He had dreaded Foggy finding out ever since they first met, and if he had to pick a worse situation… No. He really couldn’t think of one. He felt himself begin to panic. How the hell was he going to explain this to Foggy?

“Matt. Matty. I need you to say something right now because I am freaking out. But, you don’t seem to be freaking out. Well you do, but it’s more of a freaking out about me freaking out and not a _horns don’t normally poke out of my skull_ freak out. So, I need you to SAY something.”

“I- I might be the, uh, Antichrist?” Dammit. That was the first time he had said that out loud and it sounded ridiculous.

Very slowly, Foggy said, “You. Might. Be. The. _Antichrist._ ”

Matt felt his hands begin to shake as he nodded. This was going very, very poorly.

“What do you mean by _might?_ Like, how can you _kind of_ be the spawn of Satan?”

Matt decided to jump in with both feet. “Well, apparently, she was my mom.”

“Your… mom. Your mom was the Devil.”

“Yeah.”

“And you never thought to _mention_ this?”

“What was I supposed to say? Hi, I’m Matt. My mom was Lucifer, I have horns, oh and also some chemicals splashed into my eyes and now I have heightened senses.”

Matt swore. That was way more than he had intended to say.

“Heightened. Senses.” Foggy repeated.

Matt resisted the urge to make a biting remark about parrots or some such nonsense. He had a feeling this was not a conversation in which Foggy would be easily derailed.

“Matty. Maybe you should just start from the beginning, ok?”

“The beginning. Yeah, ok,” Matt laughed softly. “I don’t even know where the beginning is.”

“Ok. Um, I guess I can ask questions, then? Fuck, I am too drunk for this.” Foggy shook his head. “You said heightened senses? What does that mean?” Foggy paused there, and then more tentatively said, “You- you are _blind_ right?”

“In the traditional sense, yes.”

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN MATT?”

Matt winced, and scrubbed at his face. The conversation was already exhausting him. Foggy was getting more and more angry, filling with Wrath, and it was extremely distracting. He kept trying to calm down enough for the horns to recede, and then Foggy’s anger would spike and unravel any concentration Matt had cobbled together.

“It means that I can’t see, no. Not the way you do. But, the accident- I don’t really know what happened. I don’t know if it’s to do with all this,” and he waved a hand in the general direction of the horns. “Or, if there was something in those containers, something really, really strange. Either way, all of my other senses they’re so, so much stronger. Sound waves, changes in air pressure, things like that… they allow me to get an impression of what’s happening around me.”

“So, you can see.”

“No! Yes. I don’t-“ Matt let out a groan that was suspiciously close to sounding like a growl. “It’s not that simple. It’s like… It’s like everything is on _fire_. There’s no color, no details, just shapes blazing in shades of red.”

“Jesus,” Foggy said. Matt shivered, he was always more sensitive when the horns were out. “Matt. That sounds really messed up. But, you let me- I led you around! And described everything for you! And- and I felt sorry for you…”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Matt responded quickly. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes. “I never asked for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But you never told me! ME! I told you everything, Matt. I would have never kept this from you.”

Matt shook his head, and the tears began to fall. “You can’t know that. You have no idea. I’m not-“ _good._

Foggy stood up, and Matt scrambled to follow. “I can’t be here right now, ok? I just. This is a lot, and I’m still kind of drunk, and you’re _whatever_ you are, and I can’t be here. I feel like I’m going to suffocate, and you’ve been _lying since the day we first met_. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m going to wake up in the morning and find out this is some messed up acid trip of a dream or something.”

Foggy grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door, and Matt felt his insides crumbling in on each other. “Foggy. Foggy, please. Don’t go.”

“It’s not forever, ok? I just need to go freak out a bit. Just- I’ll call you. Give me some space.”

And then the door shut behind him.

Matt listened to Foggy’s footsteps as he walked down the hallway, and then the stairs, and finally onto the pavement outside. He followed the sounds of Foggy hailing a cab, and then the cab speeding away. He stood in the center of his apartment, feeling like his life had just been put in a blender.

But, Foggy was right. He had lied. For as long as they had known each other, Matt had lied to Foggy. About his senses, about his feelings for Foggy, about the very basis of his existence. Matt had lied to Foggy about being a good person, had hidden the snarling animal at the core of him. Maybe it was better that Foggy had left, before they opened the firm they were talking about, before Foggy became anymore entangled in Matt’s complete disaster of a life.

Matt sat in the center of his bed, and tried to meditate, and that’s when he heard it.

That little girl down the block, her sobs muffled into her pillow. The fire in Matt sparked and flared, and his hands tightened into fists so tight they ached. He had tried to call Child Protective Services, but the mom wouldn’t believe it, _couldn’t_ believe the repulsive man her husband was. Matt couldn’t exactly say he was a witness, couldn’t say he heard it from his apartment, that he _felt_ it. The disgusting horrific sins the father was committing in that room. He had hoped that maybe CPS would scare the dad away. And it had, for a while.

Matt tried to tune it out. He tried to relax, to calm his heartbeat. _Mind controls the body, mind controls the body_ , he repeated to himself over and over again. It didn’t drown out the feel of it, though. The gritty, nauseating waves permeating his mind. He felt it fill him up, override the locks on the cage he had shoved the snarling beast into.

Before he could stop himself, he pulled on the plainest, darkest clothes he had, and tied a ripped strip of fabric around his eyes. He listened, honed his ears to track the dad. He was leaving for work, like he did every night. Matt climbed the stairs to his building’s roof access, and followed from above. He waited, following silently, waiting for the perfect moment.

When he finally had it, the man alone, stumbling slightly from drunkenness, Matt jumped down.

And he let the devil out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:  
> very vague descriptions of children being aroused? idk how else to phrase it. Basically, puberty happens  
> also, mentions of the little girl that caused Matt to take up the mask  
> oh, and kissing? idk if that needs a warning but yeah
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This week is finals, but then I'll be free except for work so more should be coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no apologies are good enough to excuse the absence. I went back to college after two years off and have been pretty overwhelmed ever since. However, I'm on winter break and I'm going to try to churn out as much of this as I can in my time off!  
> This chapter is pretty short, but I'm starting to imagine them that way? More like snapshots of life as antichrist Matt than a deeply involved novel or something. idk  
> next chapter: Karen!  
> Follow me on tumblr to yell at me to update:  
> http://watssonsstache.tumblr.com/

                Franklin P. Nelson, or as he prefers to be called, Foggy, was born on-

            Well. None of that matters.

            What matters is that Foggy was born a perfectly normal, happy baby. He grew up in a perfectly normal working class household. His mother wanted him to be a butcher. This upbringing prepared him to go out into the world and make his living with his hands, to be a productive member of society by providing the people, and his mother, with cured meats.

            It probably left him a little unprepared for law school.

            It _definitely_ did not prepare him for Matt Murdock.

            Looking back at it, Foggy is not surprised Matt is some sort of supernatural being. The first time he ever saw Matt he was sure no natural combination of genetics could produce anything close to the man in front of him. Of course, that first impression was based solely on the fact that Matt was quite possibly one of the most beautiful people Foggy had ever met. But, as they got to know each other, Foggy realized that _everything_ about Matt Murdock was extraordinary.

            Matt was beautiful, yes, but also so incredibly kind, and smart, and hardworking. And Foggy had to stop there because he started to sound like a 12-year-old with a crush.

            Matt had flaws, everyone does. If asked, Foggy knew Matt would say his biggest was his temper. Foggy knew, though, that it was actually Matt’s undying need to punish himself. He wasn’t sure what Matt felt he needed punishing for, maybe it was as simple as Catholic guilt, or more heartbreaking, like a severe lack of self-esteem.

            Whatever caused it, Foggy watched for years as Matt let it rule his entire life. He denied himself simple pleasures for no reason. It took four months of annoying Matt about his constantly irritated skin before he gave in and agreed to softer sheets. Even then, Foggy gave them to Matt for Christmas so he _had_ to use them.

            It wasn’t too long after they met that Foggy realized that that was going to be his place in Matt Murdock’s life. Like a nagging wife, except he was nagging at Matt to do such ridiculous things as _have fun_ , or something as insidious as _be comfortable_.

            So, it was physically impossible for Foggy Nelson to stay mad at Matt Murdock. It would be like holding a grudge against a soaking wet kitten sitting in the rain. Just can’t do it. Foggy sat around his apartment for a couple days, staring at pictures of the two of them, ignoring calls from his mom, and trying to put his thoughts into some sort of order.

            On the third day, he made a decision.

\--

            _Foggy_

            _Foggy_

_Foggy_

            Matt rolled over with an agonized groan. His hand stretched out and randomly slapped the nightstand until he located his phone. He answered with a quick swipe of his finger.

            It was only after he had sat up and brought the phone to his ear that the fact that it was _Foggy_ on the other side penetrated his brain. He froze.

            “Hello? Matt I know you can hear me. I know you can hear _a lot_ of things now,” came the tinny sound of Foggy’s voice.

            “Ye- yes. Hi. Hello,” Matt said, quite eloquently.

            “There you are.”

            “Here I am.”

            There was an awkward pause of indeterminable length.

            “Fuck. Fuck this. Come answer the door before my arms fall off.”

            Shocked, Matt focused his hearing on the hallway. He could hear the anxious thumps of Foggy’s heart right outside his door. As quickly as he could, with his many healing bumps and bruises, Matt pulled on a t-shirt and walked to the door.

            Matt had been out every night since The Night, the night Foggy left his apartment, left him, trying to use the skills he had been given for better purposes. He had stopped numerous muggings, a kidnapping, and broken up a large arm deal.

            Matt straightened his back, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

            “Finally,” Foggy said, as he stepped into the room. “Here, take these.”

            Matt held out his arms and felt as a rectangular box was placed into them. He took a deep breath and smelled, “Bagels?”

            “Yeah, the last of ‘em from Landman and Zack. Not exactly the best olive branch, but hey, I’m a broke lawyer who just left the best job opportunity he’s probably ever going to have. So, take a bagel and fucking listen up.”

            “Uh, yeah, ok.” Matt set the bagels on the counter, and turned in Foggy’s direction, anxiously waiting for Foggy to say what he had come to say.

            “Ok. So. I have a proposal for you.”

            Matt nodded for Foggy to continue.

            “I need,” began Foggy. “I need answers. Obviously. I mean, it’s not every day you find out your best friend returns your romantic feelings for him, isn’t as blind as previously thought, and is also, let’s not forget, the antichrist. So, I propose we sit, enjoy the remnants of our employment in hell, no pun intended, and you answer some of my questions.”

            “That sounds fair,” replied Matt.

            They both moved awkwardly towards the living area and took a seat. Matt listened as Foggy took repeated deep breaths in, as if to start speaking, and then breathe out. He waited patiently, knowing that Foggy needed this.

            One more deep breath in and, “First question. Why do you look like absolute shit?”

            Startled, Matt brought a hand up to his face. He was sure most of the cuts had healed up. Being the antichrist had a few perks and being able to take a punch even more than being a Murdock allowed was one.

            “I guess that’s one of the things you can’t sense. Huh. Anyway, your left side is bruised up,” said Foggy, with an aborted movement towards the area.

            “Oh! I was, um, distracted. Fell taking the trash out.”

            “Hm. Fell?” Matt could hear the disbelief in Foggy’s voice. “Guess being the antichrist doesn’t make you invincible, huh?”

            “No. No, it doesn’t,” said Matt.

            There was another awkward silence.

            “So,” said Foggy. “Tell me everything.”

            So Matt did. He started with what he knew about his mom, how the accident happened, moved on to Stick-

            “Hold up. You’re telling me this blind old guy was what, some kind of demon?” asked Foggy, incredulously.

            “As far as I could tell,” said Matt. “I honestly don’t know much about it. Only what he admitted in his grand speech before his attempted execution. I haven’t seen him since.

            I know my mom was Lucifer, I know I have some sort of… power because of that. I know that the worst part is that I have horns.”

            “Yeah. Those I know about. Pretty noticeable. Like, six inches of curved horn coming out of your best friend’s forehead is something you don’t ignore easily.”

            “Are they really that long now?” Matt asked

            “Yeah, have you not felt them, you know, like you do for people?”

            “No, I generally try to forget they’re there.”

            “If- if you want you could do whatever you need to do to get them out. I could describe them to you better?”

            “Really?” asked Matt. “It wouldn’t freak you out?”

            “I think I’m well past freaked out, to be honest.”

            Matt let out a small smile. He was nervous, he had never let the horns out on purpose. He meant it when he said he tried to forget they were there. He closed his eyes, reached out his senses. He was immediately bombarded with sounds and scents and sins, until he focused in on Foggy. Foggy, who even with his sins, shined so bright in Matt’s fiery world. Foggy was sweating, his heart beat elevated, and Matt could taste the phantom flavor of Foggy’s ever present Lust around Matt. Matt focused in on that taste, let it flood his mind. He felt the pinch and pull in his forehead, and opened his eyes.

            “Wow,” said Foggy. He reached out with his hands, stopping just inches away from Matt’s horns. “Can I-?” He wiggled his fingers, disturbing the air around Matt’s head and signaling his intent.

            “Y-Yeah,” said Matt.

            Matt closed his eyes again as he felt Foggy’s soft hands touch the ridges on his horns, the first hands, since Matt’s when they first appeared, to touch them. He felt tears pool in his eyes and knew. They were going to be ok.

           

           

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, yeah the end of Part 1.  
> I have a bit more typed up, not a lot. I wanted to end here to get some feedback and such, though.  
> I have a feeling I could like keep adding to this verse forever, so in this entry I'll try and contain it to major plot items and then maybe expand in the future!  
> Thanks for reading, everyone! :)  
> Stay tuned for the continued adventure of Matt Murdock and The Fucking Horns


End file.
